


[Fanfiction] Drunken Ramblings

by SkyAsimaru



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Imagination, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyAsimaru/pseuds/SkyAsimaru
Summary: ** A drunk raving of all the things Crowley wanted to do to Aziraphale but never got the chance to. Rated for some explicit imagery but it really is rather short. Takes place after Aziraphale’s book shop burned down. **
Kudos: 10
Collections: Crowley and Aziraphale Fics, Crowley x Aziraphale





	[Fanfiction] Drunken Ramblings

_“And when I’m up there in the stars, I won’t even think about you!”_

That wasn’t true. Not what he wanted to say.

_I wanted to take you into the stars. I wanted you to come with me to Alpha Centauri. Aziraphale, you bastard! Why did you have to get yourself…_

Discorporated.

Crowley took another long drawl from the glass of alcohol in front of him. It’s heat burned but also numbed him inside, his heart turning cold and hateful. He hadn’t realized what a warm and soft presence the angel’s light was in his life until it went out.

Aziraphale was... gone.

He brought the glass down with a heavy thud and a clatter of ice. He laid his head in his hands and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He wanted Aziraphale! Wanted him so badly…

Why, if he were here right now, fantasized Crowley, these other patrons be damned. He’d have the angel pushed down on this table, flat on his back, and Crowley’s hands clawing, grasping, thrusting into his pants. He’d kiss Aziraphale right here - - groping and grabbing him right in front of everybody - - the demons of Hell watching them both be damned. He’d shove his tongue down Aziraphale’s throat, rip off that stupid bowtie, tie his Angel’s hands with it, shove off his white jacket, cravat, everything. He’d have Aziraphale naked and panting before him, legs spread, a helpless and willing slave to passion as Crowley dipped down his head and sampled what he had been so long denied.

“Hello? Crowley? I say, I’m rather new at this - - are you there?”

The fog of fantasy started to clear. Crowley looked up, his eyes adjusting to a bright light from the window. Lightning charged the air and thunder rumbled, but he could still see him- -

“Aziraphale…!” Crowley whispered.

It was over quickly, their conversation all hurried mumblings and I’m sorry’s and a brief explanation - - not enough said and not nearly all that he wanted to say, in Crowley’s opinion. Then Aziraphale had to go - - looking for a new host body - - and Crowley knew that no matter what form the angel took, he would be able to spot his friend’s bright, shining soul from a mile away.

“But we must get a wriggle on!” Aziraphale ended, finally getting his point across.

“What?” Crowley raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“Tadsfield - - Airforce Base!”

“No, I got that, it’s just the ‘wriggle on’ that I - -”

And then, all too quickly, Aziraphale was gone.

Still blasting the taste of the words ‘wriggle on’ from his mouth - - honestly what a bad serpent joke, Crowley growled to himself - - Crowley got up and left the bar in severe, determined strides. After breaking free from his fantasy, and finally figuring out what he really wanted to do - - or rather _whom_ he wanted to do - - he strode out into the streets of London. Slamming the door to his Bently, he put the car into gear, his heart racing like the thunderous hooves of the fabled four horsemen of the apocalypse, back in the day.

He was going to see his good friend Aziraphale.

And then he would show the angel just what a ‘wriggle’ they could get on with.


End file.
